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In the modern world, the goddesses don’t wait for men to fight their battles.
They take weapons and find battles.
Artemis has her hood up and goes hunting after dark. The city’s just another forest in need of a mistress to tip the scale between prey and predator and everyone always said her mouth looked better when it was painted blood red.

There’s too many tears in the streets. Aphrodite thinks it shouldn’t matter. That everyone should love who they want how they want, but it should all start with giving love to yourself. A couple of counseling degrees later and she’s started a movement. She’s glad they’re understanding the strength found in the heart.

Everyone is always at war, and Athena nurtures warriors. Ones that fight with their minds and ones who fight with their fists. Hera started a website and it nearly crashed in the first hour. There’s no room for weakness. Everyone is learning to be Queens.

Then there is one final lesson, the softness amongst the rough. They gather before her throne, and Persephone whispers softly into their ears that it’s ok to love fiercely and leave things behind. Hackles are still hackles no matter how pretty they are. Take your freedom and hope it makes the world burn.
—  There are no fair maidens here, there is only immortals with ichor and steel //L.H.Z

8:52pm (Artemis)

Do you ever wonder about souls? Surely we too have them. How corrupt they must be, twisted and torn, riddled in pride and dishonesty. Unsent: We do have them. I feel mine, and how it’s twisted and bent into something unrecognizable

9:00pm (Apollo)

You think too much.

2:37 am (Artemis)

I passed someone today; his eyes looked like the moon in shades of blue. Unsent: It made me think of mistakes, and how mistakes become scars. I’d like one, maybe two cut, across my chest. It might help me separate what is real and what is not

2:43 am (Apollo)

I saw a girl who looked like Cassandra. I wished her dead and that she would remember me all in one breath.

2:45 am (Artemis)

I know. Me too.

4:05 am (Artemis)

Do you still fight the future?

2 seconds later (Apollo)

Every day. Every night. With every breath I have. Unsent: Because it terrifies me. The darkness. The death. We will be all that’s left, and we won’t be able to start over again.

4:06 am (Artemis)

I fight the past. Every expectation I failed to meet. Every decision I ever made in vain. All the vows I gave too easily. Youth. Youth makes gods foolish.

4:07 am (Apollo)

Unsent: I’m sorry. I’m sorry for the part I played

10:59 pm (Artemis)

I wished it would end. I wanted the world to burn and to watch it out of spite. Unsent: Then I wanted to save it, quench the fire with the ocean. I wanted to prove I still could.

11:00 pm (Apollo)

I saw it.

11:01 pm (Apollo)

I had a vision today of a world that didn’t burn in fire. I had a vision of a world where we were happy.

5 seconds later (Artemis)

Do we even deserve it?

2 seconds after that (Apollo)

No. But it was nice. It was nice to have hope.

Excerpt from In the Light of the Stars - L.H.Z

the blood of a giant. she slumbers under a mountain and as the rock crumbles she sighs in her sleep, pulling dirt closer like a living blanket, she breathes in earth like oxygen, safe, safe while she sleeps.

starlight. rivers of it, shifting liquid starlight drawn from the sky into my skin, there is starlight in these arteries, thick like glue, a shade of purple mixed from glitter paint and day old bruises.

salt water from the sea. yes my body ebbs and flows with the tide, and it stings like salt, like teeth sinking in against an open wound but salt is a natural antiseptic and as much as it hurts in the short term, in the long term this ocean is pure.

it may be easier to ask me what doesn’t. i carry more than the world with each heartbeat, from the earth to the sky to the seas; inside me is legion.  

l.s. | what flows through your veins? © 2017 

Tell me darkness is all you’ve ever tasted.
Tell me my lips are like ambrosia from Olympus.
  Tell me this body is made of moon beams.
Tell me the stars are woven in my hair.

Tell me your hands crave the feel of my fingers.
Tell me that loving a monster is knowing the monster is nothing but a man.
Tell me oblivion is not enough to tear you from me.
Tell me the journey down to hell was worth it.
—  Things They Want to Hear // L.H.Z
let the heavens topple in their search for me.
I did not dance in the darkness
to be treated as something common,
I swallowed the seeds so they could pay token to me
and the only thing that will ever please me is the crown above my head and the bones resting at my feet.
—  this is the making of a queen // n.k.

The way I grieve for you is not loud. 

It is not a cry in the dark, 
a wail to those who love me, 
a breakdown made of tears and apologies 
and ‘why is this happening to me’s. 

Instead, my grief is a silent killer. 
It suffocates me in the night.
I feel it poison my lungs 
every time I draw in breath. 

I feel it wrap its cold dark hands 
around my barely beating heart, 
squeeze until it needs to gasp to restart
and yet it does not speak. 

My grief is silent, 
so others think it doesn’t exist. 
They look at the unbreakable mask I wear 
on my face without realising my insides scream.

They wonder if I ever loved you 
the way you needed. 
Sometimes they think I am 
a heartless thing that never loved you at all. 

They think I never deserved you
and refuse to understand the truth of the way I grieve.

They refuse to look at me, the same way Icarus’ father 
refused to look at the sun ever again because 
a part of him blamed Apollo for never understanding 
that Icarus loved him, that he let him plummet and die in the water.

No one ever told him either, that when Icarus fell, 
Apollo went insane with grief.

I know, because every night I see the sun God 
drown himself in the horizon, 
to learn the painful process 
of destroying and resurrecting himself 
in the myth we naively call Night and Day
that we take for granted as the sun setting and rising

All this so that one day he can defy Olympus’ rule 
of never resurrecting a mortal for Icarus, 
the only mortal who ever dared to loved him enough
to fly close to him but drowned instead, in the ocean’s deep.

[If he ever learns to resurrect mortals 
the way he resurrects himself
Apollo’s favourite sight would always be Icarus rising 
the way he does every morning, whole again from the sea.

And my favourite memory seared in my mind by
my aching, ever destroying, never ending grief
the kind of grief that Apollo and I know intimately
will be your sleep warm body softly breathing next to me.]

—  Nikita Gill, Why the Sun Rises and Sets: A Mythological Retelling/ Truths about Grief